The Barter System Companion: Volume One

by Shayne McClendon

Thirteen thousand men began the journey with her when she created her website The Barter System and requested anonymous male participants apply within thirty days.

  Her initial questionnaire weeded out the spammers and men looking to get laid. The first sweep knocked several thousand off the list.

  The second questionnaire culled thousands more uninterested in the lengthy research process she required.

  By the time she sent out the third series of questions, Riya was down to a manageable group of less than five hundred.

  That’s when things got interesting.

  Only when she was certain she had a wide demographic of men did she incorporate questions geared toward their sexuality. She lost nearly a hundred men within twenty-four hours who felt her questions left them vulnerable.

  Riya understood.

  Approximately two dozen men with deep-seated fetishes were placed in a group alone. They formed a separate but equally important section of her research.

  The rest continued.

  With each layer of questioning, she fine-tuned her core contributors. Every answer, no matter how controversial, was critical to her dissertation.

  Roughly three hundred men were asked to write an essay. Riya’s instructions were deliberately vague to encourage interpretation specific to the writers.

  Please write an essay about one intangible thing that would change your life for the better if you were in possession of it.

  Some of the responses blew her fucking mind.

  While the majority were filled with trite sexual fantasies and money-based dreams, ten percent gave her a true glimpse into what she was looking for in her research.

  Giddy, she separated the ones which affected her strongest. Submissions that hit her on a deep mental, emotional, or sexual level.

  At last, her final list was down to fewer than thirty men.

  They were the core of her paper. Men from all over the country, from diverse backgrounds, who voluntarily laid the inner workings of their minds and sexual selves bare for her perusal.

  Riya stood in the center of her office staring at the stacks of paper on the tables and pinned to the walls. Everything she planned to use in her dissertation on Male Sexuality.

  The research would earn her PhD.

  That would perhaps help her answer questions she needed to put to rest in her mind and her heart.

  The small forest in front of her represented thousands of dedicated work hours and hundreds of detailed questions were meticulously scored and charted.

  It wasn’t enough.

  Pressing her fingers to her temples, she whispered aloud, “This is never going to be sufficient. I need more.”

  Dropping into her desk chair, she had a cry because her mother always swore they cleared the cobwebs. When she was done, she washed her face, took a deep breath, and went for a run.

  By the time she returned to her little duplex on Deerfield Beach, Riya knew exactly what she needed to do.

  She called her academic advisor.

  The woman was in her nineteenth year of teaching psychology at the University of Miami. She’d seen more than her share of stunts and crazy students.

  Riya was apparently the first to leave her speechless. “Are you still there, Professor?”

  “Miss O’Connell…Riya. What you’re suggesting is highly unorthodox. You need to give me a couple of days to check with the department. I can’t greenlight this without ensuring we won’t be jeopardizing the reputation of the school.”

  “I understand.”

  “Have you truly considered what you’re thinking about doing, Riya? I refer to the head-on collision this could mean for you. Not just sexually. You explained how you determined your subjects. You already feel for them. You have a personal investment that could impact you mentally and emotionally.”

  Closing her eyes, Riya’s fingers tightened on the phone. “I’ve considered it and I agree.” She swallowed hard. “I want to do it anyway. I have so many questions, Professor.”

  “What if these men can’t answer them, Riya?”

  “Then I’ll try something else. I have to try. I-I’ve already invested so much time and I see now it’s all been guiding me in this direction. It would’ve always come to this. The project isn’t complete without it.”

  The silence drew out and finally, “Alright. Let me talk to the others in the department and see what I can do.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me, Riya. I suspect this could be the single most horrific experience for your mind and heart.”

  Riya smiled. “But beautiful, too. I believe that.”

  “See me before your classes on Tuesday. I’ll have an answer then but I want you in front of me while we discuss.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  They disconnected and Riya decided to visit her father. She wondered if she could trust him with her questions. If he’d be able to answer some of them so she wouldn’t need to involve men she didn’t know in such a personal way.

  Before she embarked on the next leg of her journey and changed everything about her life and self.

  She didn’t want to fight with him and she didn’t want him trivializing research she knew was valid and helpful.

  Riya wanted to have an honest conversation with her dad. Perhaps the first one in nearly a decade.

  Getting in her faithful old Corolla, she drove to his property on Hillsboro Mile.

  As she parked in the driveway, she glimpsed movement on the patio through the glass first floor. A naked blonde shook her tits at Archer O’Connell as he laughed from the doorway of the bedroom he’d once shared with Riya’s mother before her death.

  The prior week, a redhead kept her father company. There’d been so many different women that his daughter didn’t know most of their names or anything about them as people.

  Archer was fit, handsome, and wealthy. There was always a woman ready to drape herself on his arm.

  While Riya could almost understand his need for lovers, she didn’t understand why he allowed them to live in the house. They came and went within weeks, sometimes days.

  It was awful to witness. It made her feel off balance in the home she’d lived in for so many years. She carefully avoided wondering what her mom would think if she could see her beloved husband now.

  Riya never knew what strange woman barely older than her would be doing Pilates in the living room, swimming naked in the pool, or screaming playfully as Archer chased her to bed.

  Then there were the times she was introduced cheerfully and ended up being the one home when her dad broke things off and drove away, leaving her to deal with the tearful aftermath.

  Riya wanted to talk to her father. It seemed he was a fixture of her past and no longer existed in her present.

  Starting the car, she drove back to her duplex and got back to work on research. The men in her files…they were her reality now. They would answer her questions.

  * * *

  A few days later, Riya sat with her academic advisor.

  “Riya, you’ve been given approval to pursue this course. However, I must caution you to think carefully. If this blows up in your face, it has the potential to ruin any chance of a future career in this field. The ice is very thin.”

  “Thank you, Professor. I understand.” The butterflies in her stomach threatened to make her vomit.

  “Very well. Bear in mind your own reputation isn’t as sturdy as this institution. In the digital age, I urge you to place as many layers of protection as possible between the separate aspects of your research and your personal life.”

  Tawny wouldn’t leave her vulnerable.

  “I appreciate your help and promise to be careful. I’ve outlined a plan to avoid problems or bleed into daily life.”

  The older woman sat back and removed her reading glasses. “I admit to personal curiosity about this particular path. I’ve never seen another study of its kind.” Her smile was slow. “Good luck, Riya.”

  “Thanks!�
� Grinning, she rushed to class and barely contained herself until she could go home.

  There was so much to do.

  Later that night, Riya composed an email to the final thirty men participating in The Barter System project.

  It took her two hours to write and re-write it before she felt it said what she needed it to say.

  Her entire body shook with nerves.

  Good evening, ___!

  First, allow me to thank you for the invaluable data you’ve provided up to this moment. You’ve allowed me to pry into your personal life in ways I’m sure are unfamiliar to you.

  With that said, I’ve come to a decision about the next phase of my research. It’s progressive but necessary, I believe.

  Upon review of everything I’ve gathered to date, I feel I’d be remiss if I didn’t take this unconventional step.

  After intense deliberation, I’ve decided to interact with a select group of men – chosen from those of you receiving this email – in a real-world scenario.

  For those of you willing to be considered for interaction in the real world, please reply CONTINUE in the subject line.

  For those of you who wish to remove yourselves from consideration, please reply WITHDRAW in the subject line.

  You need not provide reasons nor will I hold your choice to withdraw against you. The research each of you have provided me already makes up a solid portion of my findings and I cannot thank you enough.

  For those of you who wish to continue, please understand I’ll require more detailed background information for my own protection and peace of mind. I’ll also require a photo of you. I’ll provide the same details in return.

  As with every step of my dissertation, anything provided to me will be held in strictest confidence.

  Regards,

  Riya

  The moment she hit send, Riya knew she was making the right choice. Sure, she thought she might throw up on her laptop but that was out of fear.

  She felt closer to her Subjects than she did to anyone in her daily life with exception to her best friend.

  Even Tawny thought Riya’s research held a too-dominant role in her life. She told her constantly to breathe, stop with all the school stuff, and live for a change.

  Riya knew she wasn’t living.

  She also knew she couldn’t move on until she had what she needed. There were things she needed to know. These men could tell her, possibly show her.

  Only her Subjects could help.

  * * *

  Of the almost thirty men who’d been with Riya from the very beginning, sixteen withdrew from real world consideration within twenty-four hours of her email.

  While all of them started as single men, five embarked on new romantic relationships during the months of surveys. They felt it would be inappropriate to meet her and she agreed.

  Four others felt it would be too much to meet in person and thought they were stronger behind a computer screen.

  One man stated, “I feel these months with you have been a representation of the very best of me. I’d rather never give you a real-world impression that could tear down the man I’ve shown you. That’s the man I am on the inside but it’s not the man I present to the world. It would leave me vulnerable to the point that my reactions would be pure artifice to maintain the illusion. As you’ve said from the beginning, honesty in your research is most important.”

  Three felt they’d be unable to avoid thinking about other men chosen to participate. Riya imagined others would feel that way, too.

  It was the main thing that worried her.

  Four others were concerned about the background and financial records she implied she would request.

  “No offense,” one participant told her, “but you’re a college kid from Florida and I don’t give just anyone access to my financials. I wish you the best.”

  Twelve men replied to her email with CONTINUE. All of them attached a photo for her to use.

  Professionally, she would need them to verify identity. Personally, it felt good to add faces to the names she’d seen so many times over the past months.

  They were the last dozen, gleaned from an initial list of thirteen thousand, willing to proceed.

  She spent several hours going through her files and printing every piece of data pertaining to the men who agreed to additional interaction. Everything else was carefully labeled, boxed, and stacked to one side of her credenza.

  Her huge bulletin board on one wall was cleared.

  Creating a column for each Subject, she displayed their photo, their initial questionnaires labeled phase one, and the essay they’d written labeled phase two. The surveys within this portion of her research would be phase three.

  Bobby – musician (MA)

  Grady – football player (WI)

  Hudson – real estate (NY)

  Joshua – college student (TX)

  Lance – personal protection (FL)

  Lucas – rancher (MT)

  Max – financier (NY)

  Micah – financier (NY)

  Noah – fuel industry (OK)

  Ricardo – police officer (CA)

  Sean – internet entrepreneur (FL)

  Victor – fisherman (GA)

  They were the twelve men from whom she needed to select six to conduct the final phase of her dissertation. The phase that contained a sexual element.

  The men chosen would become her lovers for short periods of time in exchange for more intense information.

  Her target number of participants amounted to three times more than her total sexual partners to date.

  It was terrifying.

  Two of the names on her list were a package deal. If she selected them, she’d only be able to choose four other men.

  It didn’t remove them from the running but it was something to consider. She wasn’t sure what a dual application meant but she wasn’t opposed to the idea.

  Moving down the wall, she glanced over each Subject’s surveys with fascination. Their essays moved her no matter how many times she read them.

  Choosing six from the dozen wouldn’t be easy.

  Most of her original submissions were from Caucasian men and she’d struggled to maintain racial diversity as well as a good mix of locations and careers.

  Sitting behind her desk, she stared at their photos with a smile. They were open to what she needed. She wondered what they’d be like in person.

  Riya took some time to pull together her own background information and find a photo of herself that didn’t include her best friend or resemble a frazzled librarian.

  Then she compiled another email.

  Good afternoon, ___.

  Thank you for agreeing to be part of my continued research.

  As a show of faith, I’ve attached my basic background information with my identification numbers redacted. Should you be chosen to participate in the final phase, I’ll send a more detail background report including my financial statements.

  I’ve included a photo so you can put a face to my name as I’ve now done with you.

  To date, we’ve communicated via email. While I’ll still have information to share with you in this way, I’d like the opportunity to connect in a real time medium.

  My Skype details are listed at the bottom of this message. Please feel free to contact me there.

  I request thirty days of more casual interaction to determine those who will be the best fit for the last phase of my dissertation. I know the selection process won’t be an easy one and ask you to bear with me.

  Best,

  Riya

  Within hours, every prospective real world Subject added her on Skype and opened chat conversations with her.

  By the end of the first full day interacting with them in a faster environment, she knew her choice was going to be even harder than she expected.

  She genuinely liked them. All of them.

  Read “Choice of Subjects” by clicking here.

  Long Term Plans

  N
ew York City - March 2012

  The day Adrian Lang walked into the dilapidated old building, his mouth practically watered with the endless possibilities.

  Nothing sparked his interest like making something good out of a piece of property others had long ago written off.

  Since moving from Texas after college with startup money from his estranged father, he kept his head down, stayed focused, and sought out chances too many people missed.

  He long ago repaid the loan from a man who didn’t know him and wouldn’t like who his son was if he made the effort.

  Remaining strangers was better for both of them.

  His latest acquisition was located off an outer street beside several other buildings left to rot. He purchased all of them for the price of the land they sat on.

  After demolishing three of the five when he confirmed their condition was beyond repair, he focused on the two huge brownstones he’d been able to salvage.

  Each would be affordable housing for twenty working middle-class families complete with a parking garage, a small row of central shops, and a communal park between them.

  The excitement in the community was thrilling.

  They had few choices and fewer still in a price range they could comfortably afford. New York was consistent in its exorbitant cost of living.

  Adrian planned to change all that in small pieces.

  This was his third such project in the past four years and the others were occupied to capacity within weeks of final inspections and approvals.

  He made a fortune off the rental income but when he stopped by the properties, it was the sincerity of his tenants that made him keep doing more. Upgrades and additional amenities brought them in, fair and honest treatment kept them there.

  Rubbing his hands together, he turned to greet the architect who brought each of his dreams to fruition, no matter how seemingly impossible.

  Sóta Eagle was Native American, Lakota if Adrian’s research was correct. From Nebraska, he’d spent the majority of his childhood in foster care but his intelligence landed him necessary scholarships for college.

  He was a big man with dark eyes and long hair that fell in a pin-straight ponytail to the middle of his back.

  “What do you think?” Adrian asked with a smile.